


hazy shade of autumn

by heyitsbabz



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Strangers to Lovers, busker! tyler, misunderstandings are kind of a love language, no beta we die like men, overbearing friends who want what’s best, overuse of emdashes i’m not sorry, soft, soulmarks of the first words your soulmate says to you, they’re both pure of heart and dumb of ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitsbabz/pseuds/heyitsbabz
Summary: The busker played on the same street, at the same spot, every day.
Relationships: Josh Dun/Tyler Joseph
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	hazy shade of autumn

Josh’s routine, he thought, was simple enough. He woke up each morning, god bless, walked to work rain, snow or shine, _worked_ which was a miracle in itself, then walked back home. It had a simplicity attached to it that made Josh both sigh in relief and frustration. 

He needed something more exciting to happen to him. 

And, really, be careful what you wish for and all that, because next thing he knew, he was witnessing a fight about to break out as he attempted to walk past his usual block in order to get to the aforementioned work residence. 

Which, no, Josh wasn’t much of a fighter; sure he went to the gym every now and then, did some boxing if he felt particularly tightly wound, but to _actually_ fight someone? Absolutely not.

But again, these two guys were harassing the musician that frequented one of the corner streets that Josh passed by to get to work, and Josh couldn’t let that stand. He knew the guy, they’d shared nods of acknowledgement before, okay, those things were sacred. 

All the guy did was play music that made people smile in the god forsaken mornings. He didn’t need to be attacked for doing a good thing to begin with. Besides, he was a lanky thing, Josh didn’t think he’d ever been in a fight before in his life.

So of course Josh had to step in, the good samaritan that he was. No way was he going to be a person who kept their head down and kept walking when someone needed help. His parents raised him better than that.

“Give it back,” the musician growled, reaching for the instrument, a ukulele, in one of the edgy punks hands.

“No,” they said simply. “I’m tired of hearing you, do you get me? I am _tired_.”

The musician bristled. “No one is forcing you to listen to me. Keep walking!” he reached again. “Give it.” 

“Bro,” the second guy grabbed the musician’s arm. He stiffened, trying to shrug the unwanted touch off, but the goon had a firm grip on him.

Josh clenched his teeth.

“Let _go_ of me and give me back my things!” The musician snapped again as he watched the first guy, the one with his ukulele, eyeing his case. It had some money in it, not much since it was the morning, but enough to be an object of interest. 

“Well, well, well, I think I’ll help myself to some of that.” the guy said, and the musician struggled out of the grip of the second goon’s hand.

“Stop!” 

“Bro, if you don’t shut up, I swear to God.” the second guy shoved him back, a surprised yelp escaping the musicians lips.

Josh had seen enough.

“Hey!” Josh called, pushing the second guy away from the musician. “Leave him alone.” 

At Josh’s shout, people turned to see the commotion. Some pulled out their phones, the sound of the record button clear as the blue sky above them. No one wanted to miss the chance at going viral because of a fighting video, after all. Josh was surprised to see both thugs give each other looks of horror before dropping the instrument and bolting down the street, nothing of value with them.

Well, that went about as well as he expected. Insomuch that a fight being avoided was a hundred times better than anything else, thank God.

Josh turned to the musician. “Are you okay?”

It took a moment, but the man nodded, a jerky movement like it pained him to do it, his eyes wide as saucers. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then snapped it shut again, thinking better of it. His hands trembled at his sides, adrenaline probably still kicking viciously in his chest.

Josh smiled reassuringly, giving him a once over to check for any injuries. Not that he’d been hit, obviously, but it gave him an excuse to look at him longer; at his perfect sloped nose and smooth brown eyes. 

Satisfied enough, Josh waved his goodbye, turning on his heel to rush to work where he was undoubtedly late. _Again_. 

* * *

The busker played on the same street, at the same spot, every day.

Sometimes Josh didn’t hear the words gracing his ears as he promptly walked by to get to work, but he always saw the same young man singing them. He wasn’t much to see at first glance; always in his black hoodie and ripped at the knee jeans, a beanie on his head, but the way he played always mesmerized Josh enough for him to glance over.

It was skillfully done, the man clearly knew his craft, clever fingers working over the strings of his ukulele and producing lovely, upbeat sounds for everyone around him to hear. It’s elevating, makes the mornings sweeter, and Josh wasn’t the only one to think so. Most times, the man's ukulele case was filled with money. 

The thing that made Josh pause this morning was the fact that the musician wasn’t playing his usual fun and charming stuff. The pop covers were frequent, Josh had heard his renditions of Harry Styles and Lizzo songs more often than he cared to admit. And yet, today, as Josh walked by at his usual time of seven forty-five, the man was sitting cross-legged on the ground, the sounds coming from his ukulele melancholic at best. 

“ _Don’t forget about me_ ,” the musician sang, picking at the chords halfheartedly. Josh noticed his case was empty of the usual dollar bills that occupied it. “ _Even when I doubt you, I’m—I’m_ no good _without you_.”

Josh swallowed, watching him from his spot a few feet away. He’d never heard the singer stutter his lyrics before, let alone sound so defeated as he did so. People walked around him, paying no mind to the man on the floor, heels clicking and shoes scuffing the ground as they passed. The man’s head was bowed, his focus on the instrument, usually precise fingers still as the silence followed the man’s lyric. 

“ _Temperature is dropping_ ,” he continued singing after a pause. It was; the autumn air was beginning to bite back and the strum that followed rang out eerily on the street. Josh felt like he was imposing, that he should walk away, but his feet were glued to the pavement. “ _I’m not sure if I can see this ever stopping.”_

The musician dropped the ukulele in his lap with a frustrated huff, rubbing exasperatedly at his eyes. Josh watched with bated breath, wondering whether or not he should offer his help. 

_Help with what?_ He thought to himself. _He doesn’t even know me. Probably doesn’t even remember me._

Finally, as if hearing Josh’s torn thoughts, the man looked up, gathered his surroundings, and his eyes landed straight on Josh. A beat passed between their locked eyes, neither looking away, then a slow, lazy smile curled on the edges of his lips as he leaned back a little. Sweat began gathering in Josh’s palms, and he felt the flush colouring his cheeks at being caught staring. It shouldn’t be surprising to the man anyway, Josh thought, this was what he did for a pastime; entertained people with his music.

Fumbling his fingers into his pocket, Josh pulled out all the change he had and tossed it into the man’s case. It was the least he could do after all. Besides, he always tried to give whatever he had every time he walked past. Missing a few dollars or quarters wasn’t gonna destroy his life. It was usually change that he got back after buying himself a coffee or sandwich. No big deal.

The man’s eyes widened—clearly he wasn’t expecting any money today, but before he could open his mouth and speak, maybe say his thanks, Josh was turning and walking away.

* * *

When Josh was younger, he used to care about his soulmark and what it represented; the love that he would share with someone one day. 

He knew that he was lucky—the fact he even _had_ a soulmark meant that he would meet them in his lifetime. Some people never saw the words etched into their skin, and those people knew that they would never feel complete. 

Young Josh had felt sorry for those people, always marvelling on the words on his forearm with wonder. When would he hear these words? How would they meet? What do they look like? Questions upon questions would circulate in his head until they were the only thoughts he had. 

Then came the doubt, hitting him like a crashing wave with each interaction he had. It became unrelenting, the doubt that would manifest, and Josh was sure if he wasn’t careful, those waves would drag him into the ocean to drown. Once he’d reached his teens and everyone started to date, soulmark or not, Josh would hold his breath any time someone new would speak to him, hoping with everything within him that their words would match the ones on his arm. 

They never did. 

Josh was 30 now, and he still hadn’t found them. He was starting to think that he never would, the entire thing just one cruel joke being played on him. A lie fabricated by the Gods to spite him. It was a wonder, really; it’s said that most soulmates meet by their twenties, that fate drags them together, a gravitational pull to one another. Josh prayed at the beginning, repented for things he did in past lives to deserve this—this aimless wandering, this breath that was always being held when speaking to someone, the everlasting disappointment. 

By 24, he decided that he was cursed. 

By 26, he wanted to burn the words off his skin. The thought of them _there_ , mocking him every day made him so angry, and he wanted them gone. 

So, he got tattoos. A lot of them. None of them ever covered the words, they’d always push back up to the surface of his pale skin, but at least now his arm was a work of art in itself, not just the sentence that so effortlessly ruined his life. 

Still. Even while admiring the swirling tree of life and blue-orange-red sunset, he couldn’t stop the unbidden fondness that surfaced when he read the sentence. He hated the words; hated that he had read them countless times, _millions_ upon millions and remembered the pattern of each curl of the letters. But most of all, he hated how he still felt like he owed this person something. 

He owed them _nothing_. Soulmarks weren’t a blessing, and Josh would go down fighting anyone who ever tried telling them that they were. His mother had long since stopped trying to convince him that it took _time_ to find a soulmate, since Josh wouldn’t hear any of it anymore. All his friends had found theirs _before_ twenty, too, and their pity hurt him more than not finding his soulmate. 

He was _cursed_. 

And yet… as he peered down at the sentence for the million and first time, his heart still lurched in his chest, aching: 

_You can watch me all day, sweet thing._

* * *

The route he took to go home, evidently, was the same one he used to get to work. 

After the mornings interaction with the busker, Josh hoped that the man was gone, having finished his singing for the day. He wasn’t blind, mind you; he’d seen the way he kept his belongings near his ukulele case, a bag filled to the brim with things. He knew the man was homeless, or at the very least, not very well off. He wore the same clothes every day and it didn’t look like he ever went to work, either. Josh anxiously wondered if he went to homeless shelters, the night chill starting to drop lower and lower as winter came to devour their city once again. 

Guilt spread through him immediately—he shouldn’t assume things like that. He knew nothing about this guy, let alone his living situation. 

As he walked by the corner that the musician usually played on, he saw him there, a handful of people surrounding him and watching him play. 

“ _—Well, you can never know the places that I go,”_ the musician sang, his voice much more lively now than in the morning. Josh felt something in his chest lift. “ _I still like you the most, you’ll always be my favourite ghost.”_

Josh managed to manoeuvre his way to the front, and the man was smiling as the words spilled from his lips, a sharp grin that showed his teeth. The people beside him tossed a couple of dollar bills into his case; it had filled up much more since Josh last saw him. He’s glad. Relieved, though he shouldn’t be. He doesn’t know him, he shouldn’t care.

“ _You need a big God, big enough to hold your love,_ ” the man stretched the word out, his voice hitting a range that had passersby's stopping in their tracks. “ _You need a big God, big enough to fill you up.”_

Josh found himself smiling, a small thing that grew gradually—he felt as though he knew the intricacies of the man’s voice after having heard it every day for the last couple of months. It’s strange how _good_ this guy was, like someone who should be playing bar gigs, not the streets. He could sense the people giving the man money, the movement, but he was transfixed by the man in front of him. Josh couldn’t look away if he tried, enjoying the small ways the musician shifted to look at everyone in front of him; a polite gesture, he figured. 

As he finished the song, the musician's eyes landed on him and stayed there, a smirk of recognition replacing the grin that had taken residence on the man’s face. Josh stared back, heart pounding in his ears at being caught _again_ , but there was no avoiding it this time, so he didn’t mind. Might as well shoot his shot, or whatever it was young people did these days. He grinned, nodded as confidently as he could and pulled out his wallet. 

As he’s about to drop the tenner in the man’s case, he hears him chuckle beside him. “You can watch me all day, sweet thing.”

It’s soft, light in a way his singing wasn’t. His singing was gruff, strong and melodic at the same time and sometimes, when he was having a rougher day, a growling thing, meant to catch attention. 

Josh stilled, his entire body freezing up like he’d been caught in one of those carbofreezers from _Star Wars_. They said that the moment one found their soulmate, they felt as though they could take on the world, that it was life changing, yet all Josh felt was as though his breathing was cut off, his blood chilling in his veins and refusing to pump blood to his heart. And see, he was sure he wasn’t imagining the way his arm _burned,_ like he had put it on a hot stove to have a laugh. 

He’d personally like to have a chat with whoever said that soulmate thing as fact. It’s rude to lie, okay. There was no way in hell he could take on the world, not when he could barely handle the way that this discovery made him react.

Those words, though—he had those words fucking memorized, he didn’t need the man beside him to repeat himself. They were so simple, but they made his still heart thrum back to life, beating faster and faster until he had to stop himself from gasping.

He dropped the money, straightened out and turned to the man. Josh’s breath caught in his throat at the joy on the man’s face, small dimples popping out on his cheeks. It was as though Josh did him a service when really, it was _him_ who just answered all the lifelong questions he’d had in his youth. 

“I would if I could.” he answered him easily, trying to hide his nerves with a shaky smile. “You’re amazing.”

“Oh,” he said, smile unchanging, eyes like melted dark chocolate. “Thank you. That’s—that’s really kind.” 

“I mean it, man. You’re _good._ ” Josh insisted, just in case he didn’t believe him. The man ducked his head, hiding his shy smile from him, a light hue of _pink_ colouring his cheeks. Josh wanted to lift his chin up to get a better look at him, his hand twitching by his side. 

His _soulmate_. 

_Don’t hide_ , he ached to tell him, but bit his tongue. He may know that this guy was his soulmate, but he didn’t know if _he_ was his. 

“Do you—” Josh stopped when a car honked at another, dragging it out enough to have the both of them wincing. “Ow.”

“Yeah,” the man glared at the cab. “Asshole.” he turned back to Josh. “You were saying?” 

“I was just, uh,” Josh stuttered, a blush of his own making its way up his pale neck. The darkness, for once, worked in his favour. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to—to get a coffee. Or food.”

And he knew the moment it was out of his mouth that he shouldn’t have said it; the offer coming off as something that it’s not.

The man’s eyes hardened, narrowing into slits as he took a step back. “I don’t need your _pity_.” 

“Wh—what, no! That’s not what I—”

“Go away,” the musician hissed, turning his back to him. He squatted down to gather his things, put away his ukulele, and Josh couldn’t find his tongue to even ask his _name_.

“Please,” said Josh, grasping at straws to salvage the situation. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, well,” the man didn’t even look at him now, his shoulders tense. Josh’s head blared _no, no, no_ like an alarm. “I don’t care. Good _bye_.” 

And just like that, he swung his case over his shoulder and left Josh behind.

* * *

The musician wasn’t there the next day. 

Or the next. 

Josh’s heart ached and ached and _ached._

* * *

“You’re sulking.”

“I’m _not_ sulking,” Josh said sulkily. 

He’s a mess, but he’s not going to admit it. His hand was wrapped loosely around a wine bottle, having gulped down half of it in one go, his clothes rumpled from not having moved for like, three hours. He hadn’t slept in about a day and a half and he’s starting to feel the stiffness in his _bones_. 

That spoke for him, so he didn’t need to admit anything.

“You’re sulking, and you’re a liar now, too.” his brother Jordan sighed, like he expected better from him. He pointed to the tv screen, stuck on the netflix home page. “It’s been like that for like, three hours. Now, I’m about to say something I know you won’t like, but I say it out of love because you’re my brother and that’s what I do; I love you.”

Josh grunted in a way that roughly translated to _just spit it out_.

“Get it together, man.” 

Josh’s jaw worked, eyes narrowing in his brothers direction. His soulmate had disappeared, and Josh never got the chance to tell him that he _knew_. Yeah, he’ll get it together, no problem. 

“Thanks, Jordan. I’m cured of my sulkiness,” Josh gestured to the hallway. “You can go do whatever it is you do in your room now.” 

The worst part about living with your brother, in retrospect, was that you can never escape family. His sisters, his parents—they were always at their apartment dropping things off and inviting themselves over to dinner with murmured admissions that they miss them. And always, _always,_ complaining about how parking was impossible to find in the city. 

Jordan sat next to him on the couch. “Can you at least tell me what’s wrong?” 

“No.” Josh said, voice final. 

“Come on.” 

“I said no.” 

“Josh, come _on._ ” 

“You’re being annoying,” Josh pointed out, his grip tightening on his bottle. “No.”

“I’m your brother.” 

Josh paused. “Yes?” 

“So,” Jordan leaned closer as he sing-songs the next part of his sentence. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“That’s not how that works, but I respect you for trying.” Josh couldn’t stop the slight slur at the end of his sentence. 

“Okay, you’re being difficult. This is worse than I thought,” Jordan glanced down, seemingly speaking to himself. “This calls for Jordan's seven stages of grief.” 

Josh peered at him curiously at that. He’d never heard of whatever the hell his brother was talking about but now he had him curious.

“What.” 

“Stage one—Josh, pay attention, this is important.” Jordan snapped his fingers in front of his glazed eyes. Josh hummed, tilting his head. “Stage one is accepting what’s happened.” 

“Eh. Done.” Josh tried to keep the hurt out of his voice. He failed. Jordan had the decency not to mention it; small miracles. 

“Stage two is saying what happened.” 

“Oh, fuck _off_ , Jordan.” Josh groaned, trying to shove him away. Jordan did not budge an inch, at all. When did he get so strong? Was his brother hitting the gym? Josh needed to reevaluate his gym choices when he’s less tipsy. 

“Josh, come on, this only works if you work with me here.” Jordan reminded him, letting the condescending lilt their mother often used on them when she was chastising them drip into his voice. 

Josh glared. Fine, he would tell him, but first—he charmingly took another gulp of his wine. “I met my soulmate. He hates me.” 

“You _what_? When?” Jordan’s eyebrows were raised, his voice now incredulous. “Why wouldn’t you say anything?” 

Josh stared at him. 

Jordan sighed. “Stupid question. That’s on me. Let’s move on before I give myself a brain aneurysm. Stage three is reflecting on how it made you feel.” 

Josh snorted, bringing a knee up to his chest. It cracked from disuse. “Shitty. Very, very shitty.” 

“Elaborate on that,” said Jordan.

“No,” said Josh.

Jordan blew a raspberry at him, quite childishly. 

“Fine. Stage four is, well, did you tell anyone else about this? Brendon?” Josh shook his head in reply. “Colin? Debby? Shit, Josh, it’s your friends’ faults then.” 

Josh could deal with a lot of things. He could deal with his boss mistreating him and underpaying him for the work he does, he could deal with being the family disappointment—hell, he could even deal with the musician hating him if it meant he’d see him again. 

But this? This was too much for Josh’s brain to process.

“You’ve lost me. What the hell are you even saying anymore, Jo?” 

“Well, no _wonder_ you’re sulking! Your own friends aren’t calling to check up on you. And don’t you get me started on the fact that you don’t trust them enough to tell them about all of this. This is borderline criminal, big brother.” Jordan rambled, eyes glued to the wall that had his abstract painting of a rainbow. “Stage five is to confront them.”

“I don’t think that—”

Jordan ignored his protest. “Stage six is to fight them. Words and fists. The more the merrier, as they say.” 

Josh turned his gaze to the ceiling, pleading with whatever God he upset to please, _please_ end his misery right there and then. 

“And finally, stage seven is to find resolution,” Jordan hurried on. “Obviously you’ll mend things with them. That’s a given; you’re too forgiving. Grow a backbone, maybe, huh? Honestly, Josh.” 

“And what if I don’t find a resolution?” Josh asked, his head lolling along the back of the couch. “What then?” 

Josh stopped, deep in thought. “Well,” he started, snapping his fingers when he figured it out. “Stage seven B is to cut them off completely.” 

Josh laughed, finally getting up and stretching his limbs until they popped. “Thanks, Jordan. You’ve been absolutely no help.”

“You’re welc— _hey_!”

* * *

He’s back. 

It’s been _weeks_ and the musician was back, and Josh could sob with _relief_. The ache in his heart lessens the tiniest bit at seeing him happy and healthy, dancing with a little girl who appreciates the song he’s singing. He’s still in the black hoodie, but now he dawns a multicoloured windbreaker over it, too.

“ _Nice to know my kind will be on my side_ , that’s you!” the musician told the little girl quickly. She laughed, waddling forward to hug his leg. “ _I don’t believe the hype._ ”

He glanced around at the others around him, their phones out and recording the interaction for youtube or their snapchats with a smile. When he saw Josh fidgeting in the crowd, his smile wavered, but he didn’t stop singing. “ _And you know you’re a terrible sight, but you’ll be just fine. Just don’t believe the hype.”_

The song ended with a flourish, the man bowing dramatically. The little girl's mother picked her up, thanking him for humouring her, then graciously dropped a twenty dollar bill in his case. 

“You know,” the musician started as Josh put four one dollar bills in the case. It was all he had left, sue him. “You can just buy me a coffee.” 

“Huh?” 

“Maybe I was a bit dramatic last time,” the man said calmly. Josh blinked, and the other sighed. “ _Okay_ , I was dramatic. Very. It was an off day, and I overreacted. But! But it did seem like you were doing it out of pity for my—situation. Even though you don’t know me or what my situation is, mind you.” 

“I would never do that.” Josh said vehemently, a little offended, now. Trust was a two way street after all. 

“How would _I_ know that?”

“I don’t know,” Josh replied. “I’m not telepathic. Can’t, like, transfer thoughts. This isn’t the X-Men or whatever superhero garbage is popular right now.” 

The musician laughed; he curled in on himself as he did so, the dimples back in his cheeks and the soft crinkles by his brown eyes. His ukulele dipped down by his side, knocking his shin lightly. Josh could stare at him forever, if he would let him; he’d worship every part of the man without having to be told twice. He wanted to trace the lines on his face with his fingertips; wanted to kiss the line of his stubbled jaw; wanted to learn everything about him and be unapologetically _his_.

The man straightened out, his grip on the instrument tightening. He held out his free hand. “I’m Tyler.” 

Josh shook it.

“Josh.”

“Hi, Josh,” Tyler grinned, licking his lips as if he liked the taste of the name on his tongue. Or maybe it was a seduction tactic, Josh couldn’t tell. “Would you like to go grab a coffee? A lovely woman just left me a generous donation.” 

“I’d like that a lot,” Josh admitted, shoulders dropping their tension. “But later? After five, preferably. You know,” he lifts his bag with a shudder. “Work.” 

“ _Ooh_ , yeah, good luck with that.” Tyler said, sympathetic.

“I’ll see you later?”

“Hm. Where else would I be?” 

Tyler turned, then, not waiting for a reply and began to strum at his ukulele again; a soft tune, humming something to himself before singing again. 

“ _Walk in your rainbow paradise…”_

* * *

Josh needed a break. 

He’s late. His boss had come into his office at four forty-five and dumped a bunch of bullshit tasks for him to do last minute, and now he was _late_. It wasn’t his fault his boss sucked, and his job sucked, and his—well, huh, maybe it was his fault. 

He should quit. 

A thought to save for another time, probably, but now it’s in his head, manifesting. 

He weaved through the crowd to the spot where Tyler would be playing music, and lo and behold, the man was still there, smiling brightly as people walked by. See, Tyler always smiled, and Josh didn’t get it. Some people would watch him play a whole song and still leave no money, and Tyler still smiled at them. Josh didn’t have the same decency; if it were him, he knew he’d snap. 

Tyler ended his song, bowing. “Thank you, thank you,” he called cheekily as people tossed money in his case. “Thank you.”

“You’re the cutest street performer I’ve ever seen,” a blonde woman told Tyler getting uncomfortably close to him, and Josh watched Tyler’s eyes widen almost comically.

“Ah, uh, well, th— _thank_ you,” Tyler stuttered, taking an imperceptible step back. Josh pursed his lips, deciding to end Tyler’s misery and make himself known. Tyler zeroed in on him as quick as a hunter hunting its prey. “ _Oh_ , Josh. Hello!” 

“Hey,” Josh drawled, arms crossed over his chest. 

Tyler sidestepped the woman to get closer to him. “I was beginning to think you were gonna be a no-show. Which, all things considered, wouldn’t be surprising, per se, but it would have hurt.” 

“Sorry. Got held back at work.” Josh said apologetically. The woman scoffed at being blatantly ignored now and stomped off in the opposite directions. “Looks like you’re getting more and more attention each day.”

“I think there’s a few viral videos of me somewhere on the internet,” Tyler shrugged. Josh’s eyebrows raised in shock; how could he be so calm about that? Okay, sure, for him it would be a good thing, but still. The confidence that oozed off of Tyler was impressive. 

“A _few_?”

“Mhm,” Tyler replied absently. He’d turned away now to pack away his things. “My friends always send me the posts since I’m not really on twitter. The attention is creepy,” he waves vaguely in the direction the blonde disappeared to. “But hey, whatever works.”

The good thing about working in the city was that there was a coffee shop on every corner, literally. Another good thing was that Tyler talked a lot. _A lot._ Josh could listen to him talk all day without a problem—he’s more of a quiet type, didn’t talk unless he was addressed directly, his anxiety about saying the wrong thing always putting him at odds with others. 

So far he’d learned that Tyler busked during the morning and day, but performed at bars in the evening. It was a steady way to make income so _far_ , but Tyler wanted more, something more fulfilling. Rightfully so; he had the voice that was unique and able to fluctuate to every genre. Not many artists could do that, and the world, Josh thought, needed someone like him to bless it with it on a grander scale than he was already.

“I’m just saying the music industry peaked when Lady Gaga and Beyoncé released telephone, that’s all,” said Tyler, grabbing his too sweet coffee that Josh couldn’t even pronounce if someone paid him. “Nothing wrong with that. Now, could they come up with a sequel to that song? Absolutely. They _should_ , in fact. They won’t though, they were a one and done duo, I guess, so—”

“You should release a song instead.” Josh suggested, cutting him off. He’d gotten a regular latte, a simple fix for the hectic day he’d had. 

Tyler led them to a corner two-seater booth. “Maybe.” he plopped down with a sigh. “D’ya think people would listen?” 

“Duh,” Josh said, no doubt at all about it. “You manage to get people who are most likely late to work to stop and listen to you.” 

“Case in point?” Tyler pointed to him with a small grin that made Josh’s heart drop into his stomach. 

God, he was… he was something. 

“Fine, _yes_ , me,” Josh conceded. Humouring Tyler and hearing his chuckle wasn’t at the top of his priorities list this morning, but here he was. “Point is, you’ve got the talent for it. Keeping an audience interested, you know? To—to capture them on your musical web or whatever.” 

Tyler snorted into his coffee. “Did you just call me a spider?” 

“A metaphor, asshole.” 

“Are you saying that I caught you on my web?” 

“Oh, my God,” Josh groaned. His eyes drifted to the door of the shop, his cheeks flushing. “I can't stand you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tyler waved him off, lifting his coffee to his lips. He took a sip, grimacing. “Hot.” 

“Thanks,” Josh joked, his mouth moving before he could process it. 

“I—not—the _coffee_ ,” Tyler stuttered. His hands raised to cover his face. “Oh, God, not that _you’re_ not, I mean, _look_ at you, that’s just unfair, man—”

“Tyler,” Josh tried to stop him, his face burning like he’d been thrown in a fire pit. Tyler dropped his hands and looked him dead in the eyes, forbidding the man to look away as he continued his stream of consciousness.

“With your perfect curls, and your sweet smile, and the way it’s so easy to get you to blush just the right shade of rose, God, that’s so _endearing,_ for the record—”

“ _Tyler.”_ Josh whined now, his heart thundering in his chest, the pound of it whooshing in his ears. Josh getting complimented by anyone was few and far between, and right now, it was an overload; too much for his weak heart to take.

“Maybe I should write a song about _you._ ” 

The noise around them turned to static, a distant memory, as Josh stared at Tyler in abundant surprise. Maybe his jaw was dropped open, too, but he couldn’t tell, the shock of the statement frying his brain; it would be a second before it rebooted, but until then, he just looked on as Tyler grinned at him from the rim of his coffee mug, smug at having left Josh speechless. 

The musician knew _exactly_ what he was doing. God damn him, Josh wanted to say, that’s just unfair. He’s not as eloquent as him, he couldn’t possibly rebuttal something like that as quickly and as wittingly as the other man.

The noise and bustle of the shop came rushing back when someone approached their table, effectively rebooting Josh’s brain quicker than expected. 

“Oh, hey, Tyer,” an unfamiliar blonde in a beige coloured wool trench coat said. “Funny seeing you here.” 

Tyler scoffed.

“Yeah, uh-huh. _Funny_ is one way to put it.” Tyler looked about as unimpressed as he sounded. Josh almost laughed at the affronted look the blonde gave him. “What do you want, Jenna? And I know Mark is here, too.”

“Ouch. I show you hospitality and this is how you repay me?” said Jenna, and Josh felt a pang in his chest, something akin to horror settling in. Oh, no. 

“I helped pay this month's rent,” Tyler pointed out, drumming his fingers on the table. Jenna eyed his hand, and Josh followed. Was he speaking in morse? This was getting kind of intense. He should say something, maybe excuse himself.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Jenna nodded, a hand on her hip. “Mark had to use the bathroom, could you believe it?” 

Tyler rolled his eyes, exasperated. “You’re the worst.” 

“Now, now, let's keep the insults to a minimum in front of…” Jenna turned her electric blue gaze to him and waited. 

“Josh,” he supplied with a smile he hoped was charming. If he was meeting Tyler’s friends, he wanted them to like him. 

“Josh, a pleasure.” Jenna said at the same time that Tyler groaned. “Ty, dear, please stop being so dramatic.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if you just—” 

“ _Especially_ in front of Josh.”

“Oh, ohoho, oh no,” Josh interjected. He avoided all eye contact, but steadied on. “Do not involve me in your scraps, thank you.” 

Tyler flailed his hands dramatically in Josh’s direction. “Jenna. Jenna, you’re scaring him off. Is that what you want? To scare off the very sexy man who gives me money? _Is it_?” 

“Jesus,” Jenna sighed.

“Sexy?” Josh echoed. 

The room was suddenly way too hot.

“Might as well pull up a chair,” Tyler said pointedly. Jenna pretended to consider, the sarcasm going over her head completely despite the biting tone. 

Josh started taking off his leather jacket, feeling the heat now. Sweat was beginning to gather at the base of his spine, and he’d rather avoid the wet look if he could.

What he failed to remember was that he had rolled up his sleeves at work, leaving his tattoo exposed for all to see. 

“I think Mark drowned,” Jenna commented mournfully, a hand over her heart. “He was a good guy. Brought a giant football balloon to my superbowl party once.”

Josh didn’t bat an eye. He’s way too used to this kind of shit. “My condolences.”

She patted his shoulder amiably. “Thank you.” 

“What did I miss?” a new voice came from behind Josh, and he’s too afraid to look. He’s pretty sure his eye had started twitching sometime between Jenna’s appearance to now.

“He lives!” 

Tyler bowed his head into his hands, defeated. Josh could swear up and down this entire thing was a very elaborate, very painful fever dream. Or some form of new torture device being experimented on his unfortunate brain without his knowledge or consent. Or—

“Is that Josh?” Mark said in a harsh whisper, the way one might when they wanted everyone to hear. Josh turned to look over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. 

“Like, does this happen often?” Josh asked Tyler, ignoring Mark’s question in favour of looking at the other man some more.

Only there was a slight problem. Just a small hitch on the road to actually getting an answer—Tyler was staring at Josh’s arm. More specifically, at the words the man had first uttered to him all those weeks ago. 

Josh panicked. He went to move his arm off the table; in the process, he managed to knock over not only his coffee cup, but also his cell phone. Both of them tumbled, one on the floor, the other dripping all over his lap. 

He was _cursed_.

Plan B could only make everything worse, but Josh exceedingly didn’t care as he stared at the mess in his lap. Nobody moved, just watched him curiously, as if he were an interesting lab experiment and they were unsure how to speak to him in a way that ensured calmness.

Maybe Tyler didn’t remember.

“Huh,” Josh quipped, eyes on his arm. He feigned shock like it was his job, an actor on a stage. “That wasn’t there this morning.”

Snickers followed the statement and quick exits from Tyler’s friends, both of which wish them luck. One of them put Josh’s phone inside his bags pocket on their way out, but he couldn’t tell who. Josh kind of felt the urge to black out creeping in way too strongly the longer the musician stayed quiet. 

“ _Say_ something.”

Josh didn’t beg, but it was a near thing. If Tyler ignores him he may just beg on principal, like a dog with his tail caught between his legs. 

Tyler cleared his throat, eyes flickering back to Josh’s face. “Are you… disappointed? That it’s me?”

Of course he recognized that he had spoken the words to him. Josh tried to process the question, but he hadn’t prepared for this confrontation today. Who even remembered that, anyway? It was weeks ago. He faintly heard his mother’s voice going _soulbonds are powerful things_ at the back of his mind, but shook it off. Too late to backtrack now, so he decides to embrace this shit to the nines.

“Why would I be?” Josh shifted in his seat, the coffee making his pants uncomfortably stiff. “It’s _you_. I think you’re amazing, as you know.”

“Hm,” Tyler pursed his lips, not convinced, his insecurity showing on his usually confident face. He’s frowning, his soft eyes lacking the bright glow from earlier, and Josh had to fix this. 

“Listen,” Josh began, his voice cracking already. Good start. “Listen, I’m no good at this. At conversation, interaction—I have really bad anxiety about saying the wrong things and, um. I feel like that’s what happened right now, so. I’m just gonna say it: I was going to tell you. Eventually. When I worked up the nerve. But the thing is, I didn’t even know when I’d see you again. You had disappeared until this morning, dropped off the face of the universe. And trust me, that was tough, okay, I _sulked_ about it. Then you asked me for coffee and how could I even think of saying no when I… when I knew?” 

“I’m sorry I left like that. It wasn’t cool, I know that. I hope that you can forgive me.” Tyler’s smile was sheepish, the sincerity abundantly clear, his hand pushing his hair back. Josh followed the movement with his eyes, mesmerized. 

“Do you know… is it…” _Reciprocated_.

The word lodged itself deep in Josh’s throat, unwilling to escape his lips. 

Tyler seemed to chuckle to himself before lifting the sleeve of his black hoodie up to his elbow. On his wrist, Josh noticed three thin band tattoos, delicate and minimalistic and surprisingly very evenly done. His eyes trailed his exposed skin until they fell on his forearm—where Josh’s own sentence lay, Tyler had his own, the words tentatively reading: _are you okay?_

“I mean, thanks for the explanation,” Tyler started as Josh gaped. “But what excuse do I have?”

“You knew,” Josh said slowly, still processing. That entire interaction had been a year ago, at best. “All this time and you _knew_?” 

“I’m sorry?”

“What the fuck, Tyler?” Josh snapped. His eyes narrowed at the man in front of him; he looked properly shamed, but generally _fine_ with the situation. 

“Hey, just because I act confident doesn’t mean I _am_.” Tyler explained. He leaned his elbows on the table, avoiding the spilled coffee. “Besides, it’s not like _you_ were approachable! You always walked away when I looked at you!” 

“I asked you out for coffee the moment I found out.” 

“Okay, wow. _Wow_. Low blow.”

Josh gestured vaguely, hoping it articulates to something. 

And then suddenly they’re crammed into a very dark, very narrow hallway that Tyler assured him lead to a bathroom, lights flickering on and off above them. Their mouths were connected, a kiss that felt like fate, that _was_ fate, and Josh came alive with it. Clearly whatever he had articulated to the musician worked in his favour, and he desperately wanted to show him how all this affected him, despite the uncertainty that lingered on if Tyler wanted this. 

Josh pushed Tyler against the wall, hands on his slender hips as his tongue licked into the other’s mouth with a soft moan, years upon years of wishing for this finally coming true. Tyler tasted of coffee and mint and lingering smoke, and Josh was intoxicated with it, wanted to never stop feeling the press of Tyler’s mouth against his own.

They pulled apart when a door opened, and someone squeaked their surprise at having two men going at it in front of them. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll just, uh,” they began, looking beyond them, at the end of the hall and to their untimely freedom.

“Our bad,” Josh told them, stepping away from Tyler. 

“Definitely our bad, yes. Should have warned you to shield your delicate eyes.” Tyler continued sweetly. 

They squeezed past them with more muttered sorry’s and Josh would have laughed had his cock not already been at half mast simply by just kissing Tyler. Now he’s just desperate and _wanting_.

Once they were alone, they pushed the other into the bathroom—Josh first, waiting for Tyler to come in and shove him gently up against the wooden door. 

“God,” Tyler breathed, leaning his head back and letting Josh kiss along the line of his neck. He locked the door with an echoing click. “You’re—fuck, right _there_ —eager.” 

Josh licked the bite, soothing. “Mm. I feel like I’ve been waiting for you all my life.” 

“Oh, fucking shit, you didn’t just say that to me.” Tyler wheezed, biting back a laugh. Josh grinned, kissing his jaw, up to his cheek. “Of course. You’re a romantic, aren't you?”

“You bring it out in me, I guess.” 

“Oh, fu—mmph—” Tyler said, stopping short when Josh sealed their mouths together again. 

Tyler’s arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, close enough to press their hips together and _okay,_ yes, that—that’s definitely Tyler being interested and all of Josh’s uncertainty vanished, disappeared into the air around them as fast as the sexual tension had made itself known. 

Josh pulled away, and Tyler chased him, biting his bottom lip between his own. Josh’s cock twitched, his interest only growing with every passing minute. Tyler let him go with a small chuckle, his lips red and plump—kiss-stung. Josh placed another chaste kiss to his smiling mouth before gracefully dropping to his knees, enjoying the shocked yelp from Tyler.

“Oh, _yes_.” 

The floors were dirty, dust and mud caking the blue tiles, but Josh didn’t care. At this moment, his only purpose was to suck Tyler’s soul out of his dick and he was going to do that without distraction. 

Josh made quick work of freeing Tyler, and Tyler really was a great dude, he wasn’t impatient with him, not really. He kind of reminded him of a man about to be promoted by his boss and therefore was on his best behaviour. 

His fucking _soulmate._

His tongue acted on it’s own, really, when his mouth moved on the underside of Tyler’s cock, licking the pre-come beading at the head and closing his eyes. It’s the definition of blissful, his heart pounding against his ribcage at doing this for the man he was meant for, not a stranger.

Well, technically a stranger. But they’ll work on that—after they do this or else Josh might die.

“Wait. Josh, _wait_.” Tyler moaned, pulling at Josh’s brown curls. 

Josh moved back, startled. “Uh?” 

And then he heard it; the soft buzzing of a phone call. Tyler took his phone out of his hoodie pocket, and his previous moan of pleasure turned into a moan of despair. 

“What do you _want_?” 

Josh heard chatter on the other end, and he raised an eyebrow. Tyler rolled his eyes in response, mouthing _Jenna_ down to him. The woman, Josh had learned from the brief meeting, didn’t seem as much of a threat to his relationship, but more of a bodyguard of sorts. Josh figured he’s going to have to face a ‘ _if you ever hurt him, I’ll break your kneecaps_ ’ speech in the very near future.

Very near.

Like, right after they get this done, near.

“Go _home_ , holy shit,” Tyler stressed, his fingers tightening in Josh’s hair as the man on his knees kissed his thigh, right above the knee. “I’m fine. Yeah, I’m with Josh. _No,_ he’s not holding me hostage and asking for ransom money.” 

Josh grinned against Tyler’s thigh, nipping at the skin. Tyler bit his lip and from the angle Josh was at, he’s impressed that he wasn’t bleeding. 

“Where—where is he? He’s here, with me, do—doing things.” Tyler bit back a moan when Josh brought his mouth back to his cock, kitten licking. “ _Things_. Mind your—oh, _God_ —business.”

Tyler’s grip on him never faltered. Josh steadied on. “We weren’t good at talking, so—so, he’s keeping his mouth busy in other—other ways.”

Then, Tyler promptly hung up the phone, putting it back in his pocket and encouraging Josh forward. 

Josh was downright fantastic in the art of cocksucking, alright. He knew this, his exes knew this, the fucking prince of England knew this, too. Don’t ask him, it’s a long story that he will not divulge unless drunk. But, see, when Tyler started singing his praises, practically boosting Josh’s ego with each stroke of his mouth before he came down his throat with a stifled scream, well. Josh was pleased with himself, if he does say so. 

Tyler returning the favour was also fucking fantastic and his _fingers_ , good God, Josh knew he’d be great with them. They were a goddamn match, and Josh was in heaven. Perhaps the wait to find this man ended up being worth all the bullshit he went through in his youth. 

They walked out of the shop hands intertwined together, Tyler’s ukulele case and Josh’s bag surprisingly having been picked up by an employee and kept behind the counter for them. Fate seemed to be smiling down on him today, and Josh didn’t want to piss her off. 

“Why ‘sweet thing’?” Josh asked, more curious than anything else. He’d always wondered why his soulmate would choose that term of endearment over something else.

Tyler smiled softly. “I didn’t want to assume. I mean, it’s 2020. ‘Sweet thing’ seemed gender neutral and kind enough not to be a cause for future problems.”

“Oh.” 

“I hope that’s a good ‘oh’ because I’ve had a great day and I’m not prepared for it to go sour just yet.”

“It’s a good one,” Josh assured him with a smile, squeezing his hand. 

“Cool. I’ve already started composing my song about you,” Tyler told him, face red, red, red. “It’s about your mouth, just so you know.”

“Um,” Josh tried. Words didn’t exist within his vocabulary anymore.

“I’m _kidding_ , sort of. Not really. Anyway,” Tyler tugged him in the opposite direction of where they came from. “I hope you’re prepared for this.”

“‘This’?” Josh attempted to airquote it, but neither of them wanted to let go. 

“This relationship, baby!” Tyler beamed, the brightness igniting back up in his eyes. Josh melted, felt his fucking entire face go soft with the words. “People say I’m a little excessive.” 

Josh stopped walking. Tyler turned to him, a little concerned, but Josh just lifted their clasped hands to his face. He pulled back the hoodie sleeve and spread kisses along the words, _his_ words. 

He looked up at Tyler. “I’m all yours. For as long as you’ll have me.”

And the way Tyler watched him, the emotions in his eyes flickering freely and not even trying to hide it; that did funny things to Josh’s already thrumming heart. Critics always said that artists, musicians, writers, whatever—they said that they wore their hearts on their sleeve openly. Josh was beginning to believe that, if only by seeing the way Tyler looked at _him_ and nothing else.

“God,” the musician laughed wetly as Josh straightened up. “I can't wait to love you for the rest of my life.”

Josh’s arm wrapped around Tyler’s waist easily, as if they’d been doing this for lifetimes and not an hour. “And you say _I’m_ the romantic?” 

“Shut up,” Tyler laughed, kissed the corner of his mouth. “Shut up.” 

Josh surged up viper quick, shutting them up per Tyler’s request.

Maybe Josh wasn’t so cursed after all.

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t even go here anymore but joshler own my goddamn ass 
> 
> and yes, tyler does radiate jaskier energy. what about it!
> 
> drop a comment/kudo if you liked it<3


End file.
